


Last Feast of Winter Veil

by amoosebouche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Music, M/M, MMORPGs, Melodrama, Mild Angst, Miscommunication, Nerdery, No Smut, Role-Playing Game, SPN Holiday Mixtape, Video & Computer Games, World of Warcraft - Freeform, cheesy and silly, irrational gnome hatred, last christmas, roleplaying (not THAT kind)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 00:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8919265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoosebouche/pseuds/amoosebouche
Summary: Last Christmas, I gave you my heartThe very next day, you gave it away... It's altogether possible that Castiel has a crush on his gaming buddy, a person he feels he knows peculiarly well despite the fact they've never met, much less exchanged names. He's finally worked up the nerve to do something about it, with a carefully thought out Christmas Feast of Winter Veil gift.But naturally, Dean is the most oblivious person on the entire sever...





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I don't really like Christmas songs, and I picked the only one I really know (because it gets stuck in my head ALL THE TIME): Last Christmas.
> 
> And then I forgot about the challenge for a while.
> 
> And I had NO inspiration. (Long story short, my roommate died in late October & I've been kinda distracted the past couple months. I didn't drop out of the challenge because I thought writing would be a good distraction. Spoiler alert: it didn't work.)
> 
> Anyhoo. I read a lovely fic ([don't drink and text, kids](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8455882)) where Charlie's playing WoW and woooo, I finally had an idea!
> 
> It's kind of a dumb idea, but that seems to be what I come up with. 
> 
> As usual, I made a lot of stuff up. And for those of you that don't play World of Warcraft or any MMOs (THANKS FOR BETA READING, FISHIE!), hopefully you'll find something to relate to :D
> 
> Finally, as noted above, it was beta read, but I changed some things last minute and there are probably typos everywhere. Sorry.

 

THEN // DECEMBER

Castiel works his way through the throng of players until he breaks through the crowd. Gifts lie scattered beneath the pixelated Winter Veil tree, and a seemingly endless number of players pile around it, grabbing as many of the wrapped packages as they can.

His character Krushnic is calm and still amid the chaos, but on the other side of the screen Castiel fidgets in his chair. His guildmates greet each other and joke around in the guild chat channel, but Castiel stares intently at his friends list, anticipation too high for him to focus on anything else.

His face lights up when he sees the login notification he’s been waiting for, and he starts typing immediately.

To [Killmister]: _Hello, Killmister. Happy Feast of Winter Veil!_

[Killmister] whispers: _Hey, Krush. What’s up? Getting any closer to finishing your achievement?_

To [Killmister]: _Only a few more steps, and I’ll have finished the Winter Veil portion._

[Killmister] whispers: _Awesome. Need help with anything?_

Castiel sucks in a breath and cradles his chin in his hands. His short beard tickles his palms, and he scratches at his face absently. _Now’s the time_ , he thinks. He and Killmister have played together several days a week for the past few months. It’s a strange partnership. Cas role-plays, but Killmister seems to be perpetually out-of-character, perpetually irreverent. It bothered Cas in the beginning of their friendship, but it stopped mattering somewhere along the way. Spending time with Killmister brightens up Cas’s otherwise dull days. It’s something he looks forward to, even though increasingly—ever since he realized he wants something _more_ —his excitement is tinged with apprehension.

There are still many things Cas doesn’t know about Killmister. He doesn’t even know basic demographic facts of the player behind the screen, but he can only imagine one or two things being a deal-breaker. Cas has no preference for male or female partners or anyone in-between, though something in Killmister’s conversation leads him to believe he’s male. Age doesn’t matter—barring someone underage or in their dotage—although again, he’s fairly certain that the other player is within a few years of himself. They’ve discussed mundane things out-of-character—well, Killmister talks out-of-character, and Cas listens—and Killmister references many things that Cas recognizes as belonging to their generation: movies from the 80s and 90s, the music his father listened to in the 70s, even a few ‘kids these days’ comments that inadvertently got a chuckle out of Cas. And as to location, while Cas is willing to try a long-distance relationship if he has to, from what Killmister has said, he thinks he could be somewhere in the midwest, like himself.

He just hopes that Killmister is available, and interested.

Even if Castiel lucks out with everything else, it would be a miracle if those last two pieces fall into place. He painstakingly types out a reply to Killmister, but deletes it twice before he’s satisfied enough to hit the ‘send’ button.

To [Killmister]: _I don’t require any help today, but I’d like to thank you for all the assistance you’ve given me, as well as your company, which I enjoy greatly._

[Killmister] whispers: _You don’t have to do that._

To [Killmister]: _I know. But it would mean a lot to me if you would accept this gift._

Castiel opens a trade with Killmister, and, heart pounding, transfers the carefully wrapped gift.

An eternity passes, measured by the incessant thudding of Castiel’s heart.

[Killmister] whispers: _Oh, cool Weird, but cool._ **[Blingtron Heart Key]**. _Thanks! So, uh, what’s it for?_

Castiel doesn’t answer. His cousin had said that only the most oblivious jackass would miss the symbolism, so how is it not obvious? He must be silent for too long; Killmister runs a few steps away and targets one of the Smokeywood Pastures vendors, then returns. A moment later the message comes:

[Killmister] whispers: _Well, whatever. It’s an easy 25 gold. Thanks again!_

Castiel finally finds his voice and his fingers fly over the keys.

To [Killmister]: _What do you mean, what’s it for? It’s a symbolic representation of giving you the key to my heart!_

But Castiel knows that it’s too late—Killmister had obviously vendored the gift. And, he realizes, it’s worse than that. There’s the fact that Killmister had to ask what it was for, meaning he doesn’t feel the same. Pixels start to swim and blur together in Castiel’s vision, and he has to tear his eyes away from the screen. When he looks back, his eyes blinked clear, Killmister has flooded the screen with apologies.

[Killmister] whispers: _Oh. OH._

[Killmister] whispers: _Crap._

[Killmister] whispers: _Sorry. Shit._

[Killmister] whispers: _I’m such a fucking idiot._

[Killmister] whispers: _Are you still there?!? Tryin to apologize, here…_

[Killmister] whispers: _Look, I can still get it back—_

Castiel draws in a deep breath. His fingers land heavy and clumsy on the keys as he types, and his chest aches with every letter.

To [Killmister]: _Please, Killmister. There’s no need. I understand perfectly. I simply read too much into our friendship. I apologize for making things awkward between us. I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again._

[Killmister] whispers: _Shit. No, this is all my fault,_ Killmister writes. _You’re not the one who should disappear._

As if it wasn’t already devastating enough, Castiel’s evening gets impossibly, unbearably, worse. First, the message **[Killmister has left the guild]** scrolls through Castiel’s chat log, there then gone in the heavy chatter of the hundreds of other players currently online. Guild members start to notice, and his screen fills up with their speculations about Killmister’s abrupt departure. Some of them are even close to the truth—this does feel rather like a break-up. 

But Castiel pays the chatter little attention. His eyes are plastered to the scene before him, where Killmister disappears from view as the player logs out of the game. This is soon followed by another message in his chat log: **[A character on your Friends List no longer exists]**.

Castiel’s quite certain he can pinpoint that as the moment where his heart finally, irrevocably, breaks.

  

NOW // SEPTEMBER

It’s a typical evening for Dean, which means he staggers into his apartment on autopilot. The junk mail in his hand falls onto the table by the door and fans out along its surface. The keys drop on top of the mail, next to the little ceramic cactus, which has never actually been used for its purpose of holding keys except by his younger brother, who has visited exactly once since gifting it to Dean. The heavy canvas jacket is tossed across the back of a ratty armchair, and the boots, once pried off, are left in the hallway where he will conveniently trip over them at some point in the night. But for now, he can’t even muster the energy to care about the looming threat of stubbed toes.  
  
Dean looks at his phone. The only thing even remotely interesting is an email from his best friend, but it can wait a few minutes, because he suddenly realizes that he’s starving. So he scrounges up a sandwich and a beer from the pitiful offerings of his fridge and then falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushions. He stays that way for a few minutes and listens to the distant ticking of the wall clock in his bedroom. He could easily slip off into a doze, pass the night napping on the couch before he gets up and crawls into bed. But instead he hauls himself back upright and tackles the sandwich. It tastes better than it looks, but that may be because he forgot lunch today.  
  
Within a few bites, the sandwich is gone.  
  
Dean burps, then thumbs his way into Gmail on his phone.  
  
He stares at the screen and pointedly does _not_ open the email bearing the subject MERRY XMAS JACKASS. Instead, he checks today’s date on the off-chance he somehow just woke from a three-month coma, then swipes and pokes at the phone a few times until the line starts ringing.  
  
“‘Sup, hot stuff?” An overly-cheery and overly-girly voice greets him.  
  
Dean frowns again. Is it weird that a chick who only likes other chicks calls him ‘hot stuff?’ It’s probably weird. “Charlie, it’s September.”

“Very astute, Winchester.”

“And why are you sending me a Christmas present in September?”  
  
“Because as your best friend it’s my prerogative to shower you with gifts whenever I please. Just open the email already.”  
  
An exasperated huff accompanies the statement from Charlie’s end of the call—tinny and crackly—and despite his misgivings (he’s played one-too-many practical jokes on her), Dean opens the email. He’s half expecting to be greeted by pixelated glitter and cats in sunglasses.  
  
He is not at all prepared for the actual contents.  
  
“Game time and the digital download of World of Warcraft. A game I don't even play anymore! You really nailed it this year.”  
  
“Duh, obviously I'm trying to get you to reinstall because you’re my bestie and we don’t hang anymore.”  
  
“So quit your job and move back to Kansas. It’ll be just like old times.”  
  
“You quit your job and move to Michigan. It’ll be just like new times.”  
  
“I—that’s not—” Dean sighs and scrubs his free hand through his hair. “You know I can’t leave. Got too much family history here.”  
Charlie instantly sounds contrite. “I know, I know. In any case, this is the easiest way for us to spend time together. I know for a fact you don’t do anything outside your apartment without me around, so stop whining, download the new expansion, and log on.”  
  
Charlie’s assessment of his social life stings, but it’s not like she’s wrong.  
  
He scrambles for an objection. “Sure you’re not going to be too busy with all your guild duties, to hang with your best friend this time around?”  
  
“You know I can’t guarantee that, Dean. A lot of people are counting on me. A lot of _very hot ladies_ are counting on me. You know what you should do? You should rejoin the guild. Most of your old friends are still around…”  
  
A conversation with one particular old friend flashes through his memory, half-remembered but never far out of mind. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, one hand scrubbing along the back of his head.   
  
“No. Absolutely not. I’ll consider leveling a new character with you, but I’m not going back to that guild, not in a million years. I left for a good reason.”   
  
“A ‘good reason’? Uh, you quit the guild, deleted your character, and cancelled your game subscription all within ten minutes. That’s the definition of overreaction.”  
  
“Abject mortification is a perfectly good reason to do all of those things.” Dean opens the email on his laptop and clicks on the link, mostly out of curiosity. Nostalgia blooms as the graphics load on the familiar website, and he’s nearly overwhelmed with memories. Most of them are even good ones. Maybe going back wouldn’t be so bad.   
  
“Oh boo-hoo. The situation wasn’t nearly as bad as you think.”  
  
“I think I’m probably the best judge of how humiliated I felt,” Dean mutters. More loudly, he continues, “Just be thankful I’m even going to reinstall the damn game.”  
  
She shrieks, and Dean jerks the phone away from his head. By the time his ear stops ringing, Charlie’s already making plans.  
  
“—priest and warlock, ooh, or priest and mage. Druid and rogue? But I already have both of those classes maxed out. We could do paladin and—oh. Um, scratch that. You probably don’t want to group up with a paladin again. What haven’t you done already?”  
  
“Kinda feel like doing a rogue, to be honest.” Simple, straightforward, stealthy. And stabby. He feels kind of stabby right now.  
  
“Do you want to go Horde-side, since you’re being a big baby?” Charlie sounds hopeful. “I wouldn’t mind having a Tauren druid. And undead rogues are badass.”  
  
Despite Charlie’s assessment of his maturity, or lack thereof, the offer is tempting; Charlie’s guild has a counterpart on the other faction, but it’s not the same people he used to know. It would really be a new start. He wouldn’t be living with the threat of dredging up all that old drama.  
  
However, that’s not what comes out of his mouth.  
  
“No,” Dean says. “Alliance is fine.”  
  
“Huh. Alright,” Charlie says, and she sounds as surprised by the decision as he is. “Well, you’ve got a lot of downloading and patching to do, so let’s reconvene tomorrow after dinner. Ohmygod I’m so excited, you’re gonna have so much fun! It’ll be like you never drama-quit. Anyhoo, I have to run, Dot’s starting a heroic group. Later, bitch!”  
  
Dean mumbles a farewell into the dead line. What the hell did he just sign himself up for? Still, he redeems the game code, and as his old beast of a laptop chugs away at the download, he stares at his reflection in the TV.

Hollow-looking eyes stare back at him, but that’s probably because TVs make bad mirrors. Still looks tired, though. No getting around that. And his hair is oddly mussed up, and he could use a shave.

He repositions his laptop screen so he can’t see himself.  
  
As long as he doesn’t rejoin Charlie’s guild, chances are good he won’t have to come face to face with Krushnic or any of the old crew. Moon Guard is a high population server, and it’s easy to blend in and disappear into the background, if that’s what you want. Almost too easy, sometimes.  
  
Yeah. That’s what he’ll do. Avoid the guild and keep his head low. And then it won’t be so bad.  
  
  
  

Some things never change. Stormwind, the human capital city, is still the place to be. He and Charlie had rolled into town on a sidequest, and she decided to log over to her main character and get bags and money for the two of them, which is fine with him. He’d deleted his main character, after all, so he’s got no source of funds save what he scrounges up from looting the creatures they kill or completing quests. So, yeah, he’s okay with accepting this small amount of charity from his best friend.  
  
While she’s busy in the auction house, Dean stands by the fountain and watches the digital world move around him. Hundreds of characters throng the streets or float above them on flying mounts. They run the gamut of low levels, max levels, role players, raiders, and everything in between. They mill about chatting, buying and trading, or just to see and be seen with their rare companion pets and rarer mounts. They sport transmogrified gear, too; everything from low-level starter armor sets to the raid gear of yesteryear, like the guy in a banana suit standing on top of a roof.

Dean recognizes a few names in his chat window. No one he knows personally, just the standard trade chat trolls, the attention seekers. This time, the sense of nostalgia is mixed with annoyance, and he closes that channel.  
  
There’s still plenty of action, though. Someone on an Onyx dragon floats above one of the nearby mailboxes; the undulations of the dragon mount block the mailbox from use, and numerous characters yell at the player, who’s either not paying attention or purposefully being a jackass. On the steps of the bank, two characters sit face-to-face. Nothing unusual about that, but their conversation—including inner thoughts and feelings—is conducted entirely in emotes. Dean snorts. Emotes are _actions_. Things you can see or hear. He’s never been into RP, and even he understands the basic concept.  
  
To prove his point, he makes his character stick out her tongue at the two on the steps.  
  
They ignore him and continue emoting about someone’s tragic lost orphan prince backstory.  
  
Back in the day, he used to run around with a role play mod enabled, just so he could see the ridiculously elaborate and unbelievable histories people constructed for their characters. Not that he ever used it for himself. Not until he started hanging out with Krushnic, that is. Even then, he’d only filled in the basics. Gave his character a last name, a cocky attitude, and a scar on her shoulder. Real basic stuff.

Funny. He’d always thought that Charlie would be the one to get him into role playing. Instead, it was someone that he’d never even met in person.  
  
“Earth to Dean!” Charlie’s voice is too loud on voice chat, and he nearly jumps a foot out of his chair.  
  
“What? Uh, yeah. Hi. I’m here.”  
  
“I’m gonna take a quick pee break. You good for a few more minutes?”  
  
“Yeah, Charlie. I’m a grown-up now. Think I can handle standing around in Stormwind on my own.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Then I’ll grab a snack while I’m up, too.”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Dean agrees. He’s watching a half-naked roly-poly Pandaren do her Caramelldansen dance while a little male gnome warrior cheers and claps.  
  
He suppresses a shudder. Fuckin’ gnomes. Probably the worst thing about this game, second to the random and completely weird erotic roleplay that you sometimes just stumble onto. He’s not sure if that’s what’s happening with the panda and the gnome, which is probably why he can’t just look away.  
  
That is, until a draenei runs by between him and the couple; his gaze follows the character as it disappears into the bank, and involuntarily, he follows.  
  
It’s a paladin. More to the point, it’s _her_.  
  
Krushnic.  
  
She doesn’t notice him standing there in the doorway to the building like a creep. And why should she? He’s got a new character, not even max level. He’s not in a guild, and he picked a completely nondescript name that couldn’t be linked to his old character, the old guild, or his friendship with Charlie. He’d done that on purpose in the hopes of flying under the radar, but now, perversely, he wishes Krushnic would notice him. He wishes she would somehow just _know_.  
  
The paladin greets another character with a wave and a salute. That’s how she used to greet _his_ character.  
  
As he looks at the familiar figure on his screen and wishes for impossibilities, something reaches into his chest, grabs his lungs, and squeezes.  
  
Well, fuck.  
  
Dean shoves the mic of his headset away from his face. He’s pretty sure Charlie isn’t back yet, but he really doesn’t need her hearing him making these embarrassing wheezing sounds and becoming more concerned about his well-being.  
  
At least now he knows the situation is still exactly as bad as it had been a year ago. Well… now it’s actually somewhat worse, because he’s had a whole year to realize and reflect on how badly he fucked it all up. Not to mention the other unwelcome realization that he’s friggin’ lonely as hell. Even though he’s surrounded by the hundreds of pixelated versions of people in this virtual city, he’s still freaking _alone_.  
  
Not much he can say about that other than it sucks.

  

Dean logs off the game one day in early October, and notices his brother on Skype. He hesitates. They usually end up bickering before long, but he hasn’t spoken to Sam in well over a week and he kinda misses the sasquatch. Dean clicks over and makes the call.

“Hey, Dean. It’s good to hear from you. So you’re back on the Warcrack, huh?”

“Uh… word travels fast.”

“You’re still logged into battle.net, dummy. I saw what game you were playing.”

“Oh. Let me guess, you’re into Hearthstone these days?”

“Heroes of the Storm, actually.” Sam runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Even through the blurry video quality he can see the worried tension in his brother’s face “Dean, are you sure WoW’s a good idea?”  
  
And just like that, Dean’s pleasure in this call tanks. “Sam, what’s the big deal? You didn’t give a crap the last time I played.”  
  
“Well, yeah, but that was before Dad died, and before you stopped being able to deal with things. I just don’t know if this is the best thing for you right now.”  
  
Dean scowls and taps his fingers on the edge of his laptop. “Hey, you wanted me to start connecting with people more. I’m connecting with people.”  
  
“Yeah. Online.”  
  
“‘Online?’ _‘Online?’_ ” Dean mimics Sam’s prissy tone. “Don’t give me that bullshit. People online are still people, not soulless robots.”  
  
“I don’t—you—” Sam pauses and takes a deep breath. “Dean, stop putting words in my mouth. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with interacting with people in an online environment. I’m talking about that thing you do where you hide behind a persona because you don’t know how to deal with your emotions honestly and forthrightly.”

“‘Forthrightly’? Really?”

“Using an avatar to interact with people just makes that easier for you. Oh, and, I also hear that you haven’t even told most of your old friends that you’re playing again.”  
  
“Dude, stop quoting Dad’s old care nurse. Hiding behind a persona. Hmph.”  
  
“Pamela was not Dad’s ‘care nurse’. She’s _our_ family services liaison. Besides, she’s not wrong.”  
  
“You’re both wrong.”  
  
“I’m not, and you know it.”

Dean sighs. “Not that I want to give you more ammunition or anything, but maybe you’re a little bit right. I saw Krushnic in Stormwind last week.”

“Krushnic? Who the hell—oh! Your gaming buddy that you had a crush on? The one where you completely flipped out when you realized she liked you?”

Sam sounds smug. Dean’s cursor hovers over the disconnect button for a few seconds before he drops his hand back to the coffee table.

“Dude, don’t get all judgy. We’d never talked about… anything like _that_. Completely took me by surprise. I mean, I may have entertained some silly fantasies about meeting up, but in reality it woulda been hopeless. A long-distance relationship with someone you’ve never met, someone you know nothing about? Krush coulda been a fifty year old guy living in his mom’s basement. Or, like, a teenager or something.”

“What would it have hurt to find out,” Sam asks. It’s a question Dean has asked himself more times than he cares to remember.

“Well, it’s too late now. I only brought it up because… I don’t know why I brought it up.”

Sam looks thoughtful. “Maybe because you thought you were over it, but realized you still have feelings?”  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever. I, for one, think this conversation has run its course.” Dean’s not quite ready to let Sam go, though, so he casts around his scattered thoughts for a safe topic. “Uh, so, why don’t you update me on the wedding preparations. Are you pulling your weight yet? I’d hate for Jess to murder you before you even get a chance to walk down the aisle.”  
  
Sam makes a huffing noise. “I’m only letting you change the subject because it’s the wedding. Yes, I'm pulling my weight, but this whole thing is a nightmare. So far all we’ve done is come up with a few possibilities for floral arrangements that we both like, which is a miracle in and of itself.”  
  
“Jess finally come to terms with the fact you have an unholy obsession with giant hosta leaves, and that you’ll cry if you don’t get your way?”  
  
“Har, har. Maybe she likes hostas, too, did you ever think about that?”

“Why the _hell_ would I think about that?”

“Dean, do you want to hear about the wedding, or what?”  
  
Dean waves at the screen, feeling magnanimous now that he’s not the one being grilled. “By all means, continue. I’m completely at your disposal.”

  

Dean is now a few weeks in, and it’s not going so well. He’s been powering through the levels, but it’s just not the same as he remembers. How could it be, though? Nobody knows who the hell he is, and no one cares. He’s just another anonymous bunch of pixels. The Hallow’s End decorations in Stormwind aren’t helping; the grinning jack-o-lanterns everywhere, the players running around in ninja and pirate costumes only remind him of what he’s lost. It’s because he used to have people—okay, fine, he used to have _Krushnic_ —to spend the in-game holidays with. Now he has no one. Even Charlie’s too busy.

Speaking of… he searches Charlie out in voice chat. He’s not sure this is the right move, not by any stretch of the imagination, but doesn’t know what else to do to make himself feel like he _belongs_ somewhere.

“Charlie, promise you won’t laugh,” he finally says after a few minutes of smalltalk.

“I can’t make that promise, Winchester, but you might as well spill the beans.”

“I need you to invite me to the guild.”

“Hmm. What happened to ‘I’m not going back to that guild in a million years’?”

“Okay, well, that’s creepy. You record all our conversations?”

“I have a good memory. But I think I can swing something for you. You still set on going incognito?”

“Uh, hell yes.”

“Hmph. Fine. Here you go, one premium guild invitation.”

Dean accepts the invite with only the slightest hesitation when the pop-up window appears. He’s immediately hit with a wave of welcoming spam.

**[Welcome to ‘The Guild!’ Drama-free for 308 days! Visit the guild website to view forums and the raid schedule. View guild Info tab for URL and voice chat login. Guild officers can answer any questions you have!]**

Dean’s neck itches as he reads the default welcome message. 308 days is uncomfortably close to his freak-out. The message quickly scrolls off-screen as people start chatting, and he snaps himself back to the present.

 _Welcome to The Guild, which is either the least imaginative or the most ironically named guild you’ll (hopefully) ever be a part of!_ says a mage named Tricksey. More greetings follow, from a priest (Raziel), Charlie (on her rogue), an almost uncomfortably friendly druid named Bearbutt who turns out to be guild leader, and a bunch of others he doesn’t remember at all. In fact, there’s only one or two people around that he recognizes.

Maybe the folks he knows are all offline. Maybe they left in the year he’d been gone.

Whatever the case, he’d been counting on seeing _some_ friendly names. Not all these strangers. Even the guild leader is new. It’s a little overwhelming, actually. Maybe he got too used to solitude. But this is what he asked for. He might as well pretend to be thankful for it.

 _Thanks,_ he types. _It’s, uh, good to have a place to call home._

The mage asks if he’s new to the game. How to answer that without giving himself away as the drama-monger the guild message warns of?

_Nah, I’ve played on and off for probably ten years now. First time with a rogue, though._

So then someone asks what other classes he’s played, and he stumbles through a convoluted reply that doesn’t really answer the question. Someone _else_ asks what his raiding experience is, and he maybe downplays that a little bit while still trying to make himself look like a viable warm body for raid nights, if the mood ever strikes. Or he gets desperate enough.

Then comes a statement he’d been dreading and maybe even anticipating, a little, if only to get it out of the way.

 _Sure hope you aren’t a drama queen like the last friend of Charlie’s we had in the guild. Chick made an ass of herself with Krushnic and gquit on the spot!_ says a warlock named Gordo. It’s a name Dean doesn’t know.

Someone else chimes in. _Krushnic, of all people… Unbelievable. Least dramatic person on the server, and he got caught up in that mess._

Dean cringes. This time around he’s definitely not going to cause a scene. His fingers start flying over the keys before he even has a chance to think about what he’s saying.

_Haha, drama? Me? I’m as quiet as a church mouse. You won’t even know I’m here ;)_

It’s not until a few moments later that Dean realizes they all think he’s a girl, and that he really didn’t do much to make them think otherwise. It doesn’t matter, although there’s _something_ about the conversation that isn’t sitting quite right with him.

Then it clicks, and he can’t believe he didn’t catch it immediately.

Someone had referred to Krushnic as a guy.

Dean sinks back into the couch cushions, head spinning. Krushnic is a _guy_.

It really shouldn’t be that surprising. Lots of people play characters of a different gender. Hell, when he transferred to this server, he even switched Killmister to a female character. The rogue he’s playing now is a lady, too. Still, the revelation rocks him. He supposes he thought Krush was a girl because he never swore, never called Dean ‘man’ or ‘dude’ or talked crap about women like so many guys in this game do.

Dean blushes when something else occurs to him: he tends to flirt more easily with women, even if he isn’t expecting anything out of it. He probably (accidentally) flirted with Krush a million times.

Not that that’s a problem. He likes men just fine.

He likes men _more_ than just fine, honestly. He just really isn’t sure how to flirt with them. It takes more effort. Doing it accidentally, thoughtlessly, is somehow embarrassing. If he’d known, he probably would have tried harder.

He sighs. A part of him longs to come clean to Krushnic the next time he sees him, to explain why he freaked out last year. Another part of him is certain that it’s too late, that it was always too late, and he should just keep his head down and move on.

  

Dean’s plan to stay unnoticed works a little too well. A few people are chatty with him, but most ignore him in favor of name-dropping people he doesn’t know, or reminiscing about This Raid Wipe or That Arena Match. So, yeah, it’s fair to say that he’s still lonely.

He refuses to attribute it to how he and Krush used to be. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s lacking intimacy in his life, and that’s why he feels so hollow as the (digital) world moves on around him.

It’s really only because this guild is a large, close-knit group and (as far as anyone knows) he’s a newcomer trying to shoulder his way in. And maybe it doesn’t help that even though it was a _fucking year ago_ , his legendary guild quit is the only other topic that anyone ever talks about.

Fucking unbelievable.

No, it wouldn’t be stretching it to say that the constant gossip is the main reason Dean doesn’t get very social in the guild. There are a few folks he willingly interacts with besides Charlie, and those are the people who have something better to discuss than him. Of course, no one mentions a damn thing about the drama when Krushnic is around, because Krushnic is still rather sore about it, if Tricksey is to be believed.

As if Dean needed another reason to look forward to Krushnic being online.

He suspects that way (way, way) deep in his subconscious, Krushnic is the real reason he came back to the guild. Oh, sure, on the surface Dean just wanted to have more people to talk to. But now that he’s back, now that he _isn’t_ any more social than he was before, Dean can’t help seeing Krush freaking _everywhere_ , and usually surrounded by scantily-clad ERPers doing who-knows-what in private chats. It never fails to make him ache with unwarranted and completely unacceptable jealousy.

(He’ll allow that it _probably_ isn’t what it looks like. Krushnic had always been vocal in his disdain of the people who liked to do their private stuff in public, so it seems pretty unlikely that he was at all participating. Was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and probably really freaking disconcerted about it, if Krush is anything like the guy he used to know. Still, it’s not a nice feeling.)

And if the rampant jealousy wasn’t bad enough, every time Dean sees Krushnic’s name flash by on the screen, he gets all giddy and excited like he’s about to ask the guy to freaking prom. Even worse, Charlie—either the most clueless person on the planet or the most mischievous, and his bet is on the latter—regularly invites Dean to run dungeons with Krush. And every time, Dean gets all stupid and fumbly-fingered and starts hitting the wrong keys and runs right into patrol groups and forgets how to vanish. He dies. A lot. He dies so often that his repair bills start to surpass the gold he makes on the run.

Charlie has yet to let up about that, and he doesn’t blame her.

Things go a lot more smoothly when he’s grouped up with folks he doesn’t have a vested interest in. Henricks, the guild’s Main Tank, likes to form these pity groups for the people with crappy gear, to help them get more on par with the rest of the guild. Embarrassingly enough, Dean is a frequent member of these groups. It’s to be expected, though; he started playing after the expansion had already been out for over a month, _and_ he started from scratch.

He resolves to be less hard on himself. Like that’s ever worked before.

 

One night in early December, Dean logs into the game a little later than usual. He’d gotten slammed by chores and errands he’d put off for over a week—groceries, then a quick load of laundry, then back out for the paper towels he forgot—and he’s tired and feeling punchy, and it’s probably for the best if he only does a few daily quests, then logs for the night.

It helps that it’s an off night from raiding, which means only a handful of people are online. One of those people is Henricks, though, and the guy invites Dean to a group as soon as Dean logs in. Or, more accurately, the loading screen takes so long to load that when Dean logs in, the group invite has almost already timed out.

(Dean _did_ run some malware stuff recently, and, under Sam’s direction, he cleaned a bunch of lint and hair out of the fans. His laptop runs a little better, but not a lot; it really is just an old pile of junk. So there, Charlie.)

When he accepts, he’s teleported into the dungeon immediately. Charlie’s there on her druid, the character she leveled up with Dean, so this run is probably as much about getting her druid geared up as it is for his rogue.

 _Glad you could make it!_ Henricks says in group chat, and pulls the first group of creatures before Dean can come up with a reply.

It goes smoothly, and they’ve just destroyed the first boss of the dungeon when Henricks suddenly goes AFK with a bizarre message— _BRB CAT ON FIRE._

 _Henricks has a cat?_ Dean sends to Charlie.

 _Maybe it’s code for something,_ she replies. _We’ll give him a couple of minutes then get a replacement._

Dean taps his fingers on his laptop, then fiddles with his phone while they wait. It doesn’t take long for everyone to get antsy. Charlie’s character is soon jumping in place, and one of the other party members has curled up in a ball and gone to sleep.

Then Henricks logs off, and Charlie tell them she’s getting another tank from their guild.

They have a few people people in the guild who could fill the role—Henricks is the main tank, Krushnic the off-tank, and a few other people have a tanking off-spec or alts. Charlie could be talking to any of them, really. Just because Krushnic _happens_ to be online right now doesn’t mean that’s who she’s trying to bring into the run.

Dean quickly scours the guild roster.

Crap. Krushnic is the _only_ tank online.

Dean’s heart thumps wildly when he sees **[Krushnic has joined the party]** show in his chat log.

 _Hello. Henricks had to leave due to a family emergency, so I’m here to replace him. It looks like there’s only one boss down so far?_ Krushnic greets the group with his overly-formal RP conversational style, but the other people in the party must be relieved to have gotten a replacement so quickly, because they welcome him to the group and don’t say anything else.

Krushnic gets sorted, marks a few creatures in the next group to signify what they should attack first, and after a few long seconds, finally makes the pull.

Now, Henricks is a good tank. He has to be, to keep his position in the raid team.

Krushnic is also a good tank. _He_ has to be, to keep his position in the raid team.

That said, the two of them have very different styles. Henricks is always on the move. It’s chaotic, but quick. And when there’s little chance of a wipe, you hardly care.

Krushnic, on the other hand, is methodical. _Painstakingly_ methodical, as in: Dean is in actual pain from growing old while they wait for Krush to make a pull. (Charlie laughed a little in their private chat channel, then told Dean to grow up and stop whining.)

Anyway. Sometimes slow is the way to go, and sometimes it’s just annoying; tonight falls under the umbrella of _really super annoying_. Dean just wants to finish this run and get off the computer so he can go whack off and fall asleep.

So he starts messing around with Charlie in group chat. Oh, they’re not in danger of causing a party wipe, no. Charlie’s too focused for that. But she starts blathering in party chat about the server she and Dean used to play on, and the people they knew there. Sam used to play with them back then, and she tells the story about how Sam wiped an entire raid on his hunter because he forgot to dismiss his pet when the whole raid took a shortcut by jumping off a ledge. Pets didn’t jump with you back then. Instead, it had run the long way down, and pulled every single monster in the place with it.

It’s a hilarious story, but really needs to be told by two people, so Dean chimes in.

_I was on my warrior, and I was Fury spec, so definitely NOT a tank, but we’re down at the bottom of this area, and Sam starts swearing, right, so I turn around and see the whole dungeon coming toward us. I mean, we’re all going to die anyway, so I charge into them and start hacking away. Lasted about two seconds before I get completely obliterated._

Charlie continues, _The hunter was going to feign death, but Killmister had already aggro’d them, so it was too late. The whole raid wiped, of course, and it was just complete and total chaos. The raid leader, this dick named Marv, was so pissed he canceled the raid. But it gets better. He not only flipped his shit, but kicked EVERYONE out of the guild. Just massive /gkicks, one after the other, until the whole guild was empty. I did a /who on the guild and there was literally only himself in it. Turned an average raiding night into a server legend. The forum post of the fallout was archived, it was so epic._

Dean moves onto another story, but Krushnic suddenly picks up the pace. He pulls two groups where he’d normally only pull one, and they’re taken by surprise. The healer dies, and they only survive thanks to Charlie’s battle resurrection ability.

Before the healer even gets healed up, Krushnic pulls the boss.

It’s like all Hell breaks loose. Somehow, miracle of miracles, Dean is the only one who died. While he waits for a resurrection, his eyes glued to the corpse of his character curled up on the floor, he sends a message to Krushnic.

_Everything okay?_

Krushnic doesn’t reply, and Dean figures the guy is distracted or tired or something.

As soon as the last boss is dead, Krushnic drops group.

_What the hell?? You have somewhere to be or something? Was it something I said?_

Krushnic replies, _Yes, it was something you said. Or rather, something Charlie said. It may have been on a different server, but I can’t imagine that there are many people who name their warriors Killmister._

Shit.

Fuck.

Fucking _shit_.

Dean scrolls back through his chat log, and yes indeed, Charlie had mentioned his warrior’s name.

 _Look, man, I can explain._ It’s not entirely true. Dean doesn’t even know where to begin explaining himself, but he sends the message anyway. He gets the feeling that he doesn’t have a lot of time to fix this.

It doesn’t matter, though, because the only response he gets back from Krushnic is that he’s put Dean on ignore.

  

It’s that indefinable time between holidays where progression raiding takes a backseat to the demands of players’ schedules. The Feast of Winter Veil is still a week away, and it seems like the only people online are the hardcore addicts and the people with no life. (There’s an uncomfortable moment where Dean realizes he’s lumped in that group, too.) Those who _do_ play are irritable and angry with the people who _don’t_ play—and because they have nowhere to direct their anger, they take it out on each other. You could say that things have been tense in the guild for the past week.

Dean feels the tension for a different reason, of course, although if there’s one silver lining in the whole mess, it’s that Krushnic hasn’t been online in a few days, and he must have kept his mouth shut. No one’s linked Dean with the drama queen Killmister.

Dean is in favor of things staying that way.

Too bad Charlie can’t take a hint.

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag, you could have your warrior restored,” she says one day over voice chat.

“Are you serious? ‘ _Cat’s out of the bag’_? You outed me! And yeah, let me just flaunt my deleted character back in everyone’s face. That’ll be awesome.”

“Dude, whatever. Are you telling me that you were _never_ going to tell Krushnic that you were his old friend? You as good as told me you thought about patching things up with him. That would never happen if you keep that big of a secret from him.”

Dean sighs. He knows she’s right. Hell, he’s known it since he came back to the game. But that humiliation that’s stuck with him for the past year refuses to budge. He wants to go one way, but it pricks and pulls at him and coaxes him the other way, down the safe path, the one where he stays hidden and unknown.

“How do you even begin to explain something like that? It doesn’t even make sense to me, and I’m the one who freaked out and ran away,” he says after the silence has stretched on too long. “Not to mention he has me on freaking _ignore_ , so it’s not like he’s ready to listen to my excuses.”

“Maybe you could get a RL meeting set up,” Charlie muses.

“A whatnow? How the hell would that work, I don’t even know where he—” Dean pauses. “You know where he lives. And I’m guessing it’s not far, or you wouldn’t suggest meeting up.”

Charlie coughs into her mic. “Maybe,” she admits.

“Charlie, spill.”

“Look, I’m not friends with him outside of the game or anything like that. I just happen to know some people he knows.” He can practically hear Charlie’s brain churning as she thinks over what she can and cannot divulge to him. “There is someone you might want to talk to. Two someones, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Krushnic has some family in the guild. Raziel is his cousin, and I think Tricksey is his brother or something. They might have some ideas about how you could patch this up. I hope one of them does, because I got nothing.”

“Raz and Trick? Really. Huh.”

 

Dean doesn’t know the player behind Tricksey very well, but he does know that the guy is pretty much the polar opposite of Krushnic. First of all, he plays a gnome with a twirly mustache. Second, he’s a trade chat troll, an attention-seeker extraordinaire who can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. The very idea that he’s related to the staid Krushnic is completely messed up. Charlie must be thinking of someone else, Dean thinks, until he messages Tricksey the very next time he sees him.

 _Hoo, boy. If we’re going to have an uncomfortable conversation regarding my brother’s love life,_ the mage says, _we’re doing this in voice chat. Easier to judge you that way._

Dean logs into the voice chat to see Tricksey already there. The mage’s handle is different than his character name, and it’s one he recognizes easily.

“Dude, I had no idea you were Loki.”

“Uh, do I know you from somewhere?” The man’s voice is muffled, like he’s chewing on something.

“Oh, um. Yeah, actually, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. I guess Krushnic didn’t mention anything about me?”

“Why would he? You’ve only been in The Guild for a month.” A wet slurp follows.

“Well, technically, a little over a month.” Dean pauses. “On _this_ character.”

There’s an expectant silence, broken only by a crunching noise, but Dean can’t make himself continue.

“Is this conversation going to start making sense at any time in the near future? Because I could be killing noobs in battlegrounds,” Loki-slash-Tricksey says.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean swipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. “Look, this isn’t easy to admit. I’ve been in the guild before on a different character. We all used to raid together, actually. And… I was friends with Krushnic.”

Tricksey is silent, and the annoyed weight of it prompts Dean to continue in a rush: “Dude, you know, _friends_. I’m Killmister. The ‘drama queen’ that everyone still talks about because apparently nothing interesting ever happens in this guild?”

The man crunches on something, then swallows noisily. “Well, slap me silly and call me Sally.”

“What?”

Tricksey ignores the interjection. “I knew my bro was acting weird the past couple of days. Figures it’s _you_ again. You really messed him up, you know. Huh! I never actually figured you for a dude. Anna thought you were. Said no way a woman would ever freak out like that.”  
  
“Anna?”

“Ca— _Krushnic’s_ cousin. Well, our cousin. Raz. She used to be Anael, but changed her character name because she was the butt of too many anal jokes. Get it? The _butt_ of _anal_ jokes?”

Dean has a sudden and inexplicable mental image of Tricksey doing some eyebrow waggles. On a gnome, it’s horrendous.

“Yeah, no, I get it,” Dean says with a groan. “I remember Anael. I remember the jokes, too. I’m surprised they got to her. She seemed pretty level-headed.”

“Well, this is Moon Guard. You can only take so much anal before you’ve had your fill of it, am I right?” Tricksey pauses; when Dean doesn’t acknowledge the joke, he sighs. “Alright, well, I assume if you’re seeking my help, you must be desperate. What’s the dealio?”

“Uh, you don’t know the story?”

“Oh, puh-lease. I know the original story. Everyone knows _that_ story. What I don’t know is what you did _this_ time. And before you protest, my bro hasn’t logged on in days. The last time he disappeared like that was last Christmas, also conveniently known as the last time you fucked with him.”

Dean sighs. “Look, it wasn’t—It’s not like this all happened because I wanted it to. I wasn’t going to say anything about who I was because I didn’t wanna dredge all that crap up again. But the other day Charlie let my old character name slip. Krush got pissed, maybe he thought I was trying to mess with him, I dunno. I was trying to avoid more drama. Anyway, he tore me a new one, put me on ignore, and logged off.”

Tricksey hums thoughtfully. “You have a unique ability to piss off the most unflappable person in the entire world. I don’t think he’s ever ignored anyone before.”

“Thanks?”

“No thanks necessary. Anyway, getting sidetracked here. What do you want to have happen?”

Dean sucks on his lip as he thinks it over. “Best case? Maybe I get another shot. But if nothing else, I just don’t want him to hate me. I mean, I don’t want him to feel like he has to disappear, y’know? So, like, we hafta coexist. At the very least. So… maybe you could tell him that? Or least tell him I’d like to apologize. Charlie said we live near each other and thought we should try to meet up, but I don’t wanna push anything.”

He’s definitely hoping for the best case, but that seems further and further from reality the more he churns the thought around in his head.

“Yeah, see, my brother probably isn’t going to want to meet up in person right off the bat. But, since you aren’t actually trying to be an asshole, I’ll help you make amends. But only on a provisional basis. If this thing goes sideways, like it probably will, I’m going to leave you to your own devices. My name’s Gabe, by the way.”

“Dean.”

“Now, Dean, I’m going to be honest with you. Ca—Krush isn’t going to come around to this easily. But my baby bro deserves to be happy, and if that’s with you, then who am I to judge? In any case, if this is going to work, I think we need to recruit Anna, too.”

 

If Krushnic is one extreme and Gabe the other, Anna is the middle ground between Gabe’s irreverence and Krushnic’s stoic facade. She doesn’t go easy on Dean, but neither does she tease him incessantly. She is, as Dean guessed, very level-headed. She also refuses to call Krushnic, Krushnic.

“I hate that name,” she admits. “We came up with it one night while the vodka may have been flowing a little bit too freely. It was some family name, some great-great-uncle who came over from Russia. I don’t even remember for sure. But Cas refuses to pay for a name change. He refuses to let _me_ pay for a name change. He’d rather run around with _that_ abomination of a name than come up with something even halfway decent.”

“His name is Cas?” Dean says.

“So what’s the goal, here? You want him to, what, not hate you?” Anna ignores his interruption.  
“Well, I mean, I guess that’s the low bar—”

“Dean here wants to date little Cassie.”

“Uh, like I said, I have low expec—”

“So you want to get it on with my cousin?”

“Uh, well, see, that’s not what I said, and that’s even kind of a leap from what Gabe said—”

“Whatever, don’t be squeamish. We’re cool with it,” Gabe interrupts. “Cas needs to get out more, anyway. Given that you’re a local, it’s feasible. We just have to get ‘im to come around to the idea of forgiving you.”

“Which he will. Probably. As long as you make a sincere, heartfelt apology,” Anna adds.

“While prostrate, naturally,” Gabe says.

“And with Winter Veil gifts.”  

“Oh, my god,” Dean mutters. “You guys suck. I think I’m better off asking people who are actually in a relationship.”

  

“Crap, sorry, I thought Sam was online.” Dean apologizes to Jess when she answers his skype call. She’s sitting slightly to one side, showing their giant Christmas tree (fully decorated, of course) to advantage. The tree is completely laden with glass ornaments and twinkling white lights on the top half, and mismatched colored lights, popcorn strings, and old macaroni projects on the bottom half. A lopsided paper angel with black wings perches on top of the tree.

“Don’t worry about it, Dean. We’re going to be in-laws soon, and even better, we’re adults! We are allowed to talk amongst ourselves without supervision.”

Dean chuckles. “Is Sam around? Not that you aren’t great, because you are—seriously, why are you with my brother?—but I need to talk to him about a, a… thing.”

Jess turns away from the computer screen and yells to a distant part of their house. “Sam! Get your butt down here! Your doofy brother wants to talk to you!”

“Wow. Thanks for that.”

“Anytime, Dean.”

Sam thunders down the stairs and soon pops into view. He’s wearing a sweater with a cartoon reindeer face on it, and Dean stifles a snort of laughter just in time. Jess moves aside. She thinks she’s being sneaky, but Dean can still see the edge of her shirt sleeve poking into the frame.

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”

“So, uh, you remember that ‘situation’ we talked about a couple months ago? It’s kinda progressed. In a negative way.”

“Color me surprised.”

“Dude, shut up. Look, Charlie let it slip in a group chat that my old character was Killmister.”

“Okay…” Sam says.

“Krushnic was in the fucking group!”

“Well, why didn’t you say that to begin with?” Sam frowns.

“I was getting to it! So anyway, point is, I fucked up. _Again_. Oh, also? Krushnic’s a dude.”

“Huh,” Sam muses. “Well, I’m pretty sure you don’t care that he’s a dude, so…”

“I don’t know how to talk to guys like that, that’s the fucking problem. I don’t have a clue how to un-fuck the situation, and I’m starting to get the idea that you two are useless, if the tree is an accurate picture of your marital harmony.”

Sam’s mouth drops open.

Jess darts back in front the screen, giving up all pretense that she was offering them privacy. “Oh, fuck off, Dean. You Winchesters and your Christmas hate. You have any idea how long it took me to reprogram Sam? And our tree is fucking awesome.”

“Which half is yours?” Dean asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jess answers sweetly. _Too_ sweetly. “And don’t change the subject. You originally fucked up around Christmas, and you said the guy made a symbolically romantic gesture with a present, right? If he’s symbolic and romantic, he probably won’t be able to resist if you give him a sweet apology present!”

Okay, and apparently even Jess knows all about this ridiculous situation. Great. Just fantastic.

Sam grimaces at her. “I don’t think Dean wants to _trick_ him—”

“It’s not a trick! It’s just carefully calculated to appeal to what he likes.”

“Seems kind of manipulative,” Sam continues.

Jess mentions something about hosta leaves, and Sam blanches. She turns back to the screen and continues, “All joking aside, Dean, what about Charlie? She knows you both pretty well, doesn’t she? And it’s kinda her fault? Not that I’m mad at her! But you know what I mean.”

“Uh, I guess? But she’s the co-lead for the main raid team, and they’re pushing at progression raids right now, and I don’t want to distract her. And then Krush has me on ignore, and hasn’t logged in in a while—”

Sam rolls his eyes.

Jess frowns. “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Fine. Let me translate: Charlie’s busy, Krushnic is avoiding me.”

“Charlie’s too busy for her best friend?” Jess asks incredulously.

Dean shrugs. “I’m not sure she could help me, anyway. You know we’re practically twins. That means she’s got to be at least half as emotionally stunted as I clearly must be.”

Sam huffs. “I think you’re selling yourself short, there, buddy.”

“Well, given the mess I’ve made of things, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

“Alright, here’s what you’re going to do, Dean.” Jess leans toward the screen. Sam unconsciously mimics the motion, and Dean chuckles. These two were made for each other. “You can’t really do much about him avoiding you, but _if_ , by some miracle, he’s willing to listen, you grovel. You grovel like your life depends on it, because let’s face it, if you’re still this torn up about it a year later, you’re screwed.”

“Groveling is a sound plan,” Sam adds.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay, so now I just have to hope he somehow stops avoiding me.”

“Yup.” Sam and Jess nod in unison.

  

Castiel logs on to the game for the first time in over a week on a cold and lonely night. He has some trepidation about his absence, because he never just disappears like that. No, that’s more of a Killmister thing to do. The last time he acted so out of character was, well… let’s just say that the last time was also due to Killmister.

He wishes he weren’t so affected. Castiel hates the idea that people in the guild noticed his absence, and that they may have also noticed the reason for it. The Guild is friendly and welcoming, but it’s also a very gossipy environment, so although _he_ hadn’t spoken of the incident to anyone, there’s no guarantee that Killmister had done the same. In fact, given how his brother ambushed him the other day, he has a sneaking suspicion that Killmister had gone to Gabe to try to solicit mediation, and that Gabriel subsequently decided to intervene.

So in an effort to avoid notice, Castiel chooses late on a weekday evening to log in. It also just happens to be an off-night from raiding. As he had hoped, there are very few people online at the moment, but one of those few is Charlie. Cas stifles a groan. Charlie is a lovely person, but from what he understands, she’s known Killmister for a long time. She’ll probably take his side, try to get Castiel to forgive and forget all the nastiness.

Well. He can’t forget. He was halfway to being in love with Killmister, as ridiculous as that sounds, and to be betrayed like that is certainly unforgivable, isn’t it? Cas frowns to himself. He’s not exactly sure why he believes it’s unforgivable. He just feels that it is.

Although it bears mentioning that Gabriel, the most stubborn person in the entire state of Kansas, thinks _Cas_ is being intractable and hard-headed. The last time they spoke, Gabe advised that he consider whether it was worth his while to hold on to his anger like that.

Cas had told Gabe to get lost.

But later, upon reflection, he came to the conclusion that there’s a slim possibility he’s blowing the whole thing out of proportion. Fueled by pride and embarrassment, a simple misunderstanding had taken on epic proportions. He idly wonders if he would be more or less distraught if Killmister had come back on his original character, instead of hiding behind a new one.

Cas stares blankly at his computer screen.

Why _did_ Killmister start a new character?

Because Killmister wanted to start over, to have a fresh start.

Because he didn’t want to start up where he left off with Cas. And that would be because Killmister wasn’t interested in him.

Cas’s chest aches, and he rubs at it absently.

It stands to reason. Killmister has respected his wishes and not tried to contact him. The fact that Charlie hasn’t even so much as acknowledged Castiel’s presence in the ten minutes he’s been online certainly supports the idea that Killmister no longer has an interest in being friends. If that’s the case, then ignoring him is unnecessary and also childish.

On the other hand—if Killmister was not interested, why did he go to Gabe?

Why hasn’t Charlie tried to plead his case? Because Killmister doesn’t care, and he never asked Charlie to intervene on his behalf, that’s why.

But, again… Gabriel got involved.

This is going nowhere. If he wants to know, perhaps he should simply ask. Cas takes a deep breath and starts typing out a message to Charlie.

 

  

December is Dean’s least favorite month. It gets dark at 4 pm, it’s friggin’ cold, it creeps along slowly, and there’s usually not even any snow as a consolation prize. (Or there is snow, but there’s like ten feet of it.) It also really doesn’t help that he has yet to have any good Christmas memories. Last year could have been a good year, but no, he screwed that up. This year isn’t shaping up to be any better, either, considering he still hasn’t gotten Castiel to freaking talk to him.

And then a miracle happens.

Dean types out a halfhearted message to Cas, as Charlie suggested, and it goes through.

 _What do you want?_ Cas replies.

_Oh, shit. Um. I wasn’t expecting you to get that. But, um… I really need to talk to you._

Cas’s response is a long time in coming. So long, in fact, that Dean’s starting to think he should just log off and uninstall the damn game again, but just as he’s trying to talk himself out of the drastic action, he gets a message: _I’m not sure what we could possibly talk about._

 _Look, Krushnic—_ Dean’s careful not to let on that Anna let his name slip— _I’m sorry about the whole thing from last year. Can we talk, please? I just want to explain some things, if you’ll let me._

_How do I know I can believe anything you say?_

_How about we do this in voice chat?_ Dean says, remembering something Gabe said. He listens to the distant ticking of his bedroom clock as he waits for a response, his heart in his throat.

 _Fine,_ Cas finally says.

Dean is already logged in, so he waits, tries to drum up some patience, some frickin’ calm.

‘Krushnic’ is online and in the private chat channel Dean set up in short order, but suddenly Dean doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, Cas doesn’t seem to want to wait for Dean to get with the program.

“Well?” Castiel’s voice is deep and his tone impatient.

It does things to Dean, and he shivers. They’d raided together for a while, and were close friends for _months_ , so how had he gone so long without hearing Cas’s voice? Dean vows to drag this conversation out as long as possible, no matter how awkward it gets.

“Earth to Killmister, or whatever your name is. You wanted to speak to me, and now I’m here. So, speak.”

“I, uh, um…” Alright, so, already awkward.

Castiel chuckles. The sound shimmies down Dean’s spine and curls around his toes. Dean wants to wrap himself in it. “You thought I was a woman, didn’t you? Well, I wish I could say that I’m sorry to have disappointed you. However, given that you’re kind of a jackass, I admit I’m not sorry at all.”

“Oh, no, I knew you were a dude. Figured it out a little while ago from what some people were saying in guild chat.”

“Oh. Well, then, what’s the problem?”

“Trust me, there’s no problem. No problem at all.”

There’s silence from the other end. Dean’s pretty sure he can hear Castiel frowning. He should probably get to the damn point already.

“Uh, so, well, I'm Dean.”

“Dean.” Castiel says, but doesn’t elaborate. It’s like he’s tasting the name… and finding it unpalatable. "My name is Castiel."

Dean swallows thickly, suddenly nervous that this isn’t going to turn out the way he hopes it would. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m a guy.”

Castiel snorts. “No. There’s a certain callousness to your actions that just screams ‘insecure male.’ I’ve had my suspicions.”

Dean pushes on. “And I wanted to—”

“You wanted to explain some things to me, Dean, is that right? You wanted to _explain_ how you trampled all over my heart, then disappeared without a word? And you wanted to _explain_ how you later reappeared and pretended to be my friend without telling me who you really were? Well, Dean, I’m all ears. Explain away.”

Well, it’s the chance that he was hoping for, but how exactly is he supposed to do that? _And_ make himself look good? Dean fiddles with a pen picked up from the coffee table. He clicks it while he tries to put into words what he barely understands about himself. Words don’t come, however, and he drops the pen back on the table.

“That’s just it. I can’t explain it. I can tell you what was going on in my life, and I can tell you what I was hoping for, but I can’t tell you why I reacted the way I did.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. He can’t explain it, but he’s going to try anyway. “I know I was embarrassed about vendoring the Blingtron thing. But it was more than that. You were—you were a lot of fun to be around, like, you have _no_ idea. But I didn’t actually _know_ anything about you. Everything we did, all the talks we had, it was all the game world, man. I didn’t even know where you lived until Charlie mentioned it.”

Castiel makes a low-pitched humming noise, and Dean gets momentarily distracted.

“Uh. I’m not sure where I’m going with this. You were great, but I didn’t know what it meant to you. Or to me. And I didn’t know where I wanted it to go. I didn’t have a clue how to get to know _you_ and reconcile that with the person I played a game with. So once I realized what you meant with the gift, I just… freaked out.”  
  
“And that’s why you sold it?”

“Um. No, that really was just obliviousness on my part. I only realized after you said.”

Castiel laughs, and although grudging, it also sounds genuine. “I have to admit, I do take some pleasure in your ridiculousness. So, Dean. You’ve explained yourself. Now, what do you want?”

“Uh, well, I guess that depends on what I can have.”

“Really.” Cas’s voice is heavy with sarcasm.

“What do _you_ want?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Dean.” Castiel fairly growls at him, and Dean shivers again. He snaps back to attention once he realizes that Cas is still talking. “I don’t want to know what you think I’ll let you have. I want to know what you _want_ . I want to know… what it _meant_ to you.”

Dean swallows, clears his throat. The safe path stretches before him, the one where he and Cas are friends again. That’s all he once dared to hope for, even if he wanted more.

Does he want more? He thinks about the way Cas’s voice makes his toes curl, wonders what he looks like. Remembers how it felt to log on knowing his friend would be there, knowing how he secretly ached for something else. Considers how it felt to log on as his new character, knowing Cas would be online, but wouldn’t be speaking to him, wouldn’t be treating him any differently than anyone else in the guild. His chest constricts.

“It meant more to me than I realized,” Dean finally says. “I want… God, I want everything. I want to see you.”

“Well, that may be more difficult than—wait, where do you live? I never asked.”  
“Right smack dab in Lawrence, Kansas.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Cas says, and Dean laughs, a quick bark of surprise at the profanity.

“But that’s not the most important thing,” Dean hastily adds before the guy thinks he’s laughing at him. “I mostly want to get to know you. The real you. Dude, you role-played all the fuckin time.”

“Well, I mostly role-played as myself,” Castiel says. “I’m not that different from my character, if you must know.”

“What, so you’re blue? Have horns, hooves, and a tail? Kinky.”

Cas sighs. “I think you know what I mean, Dean.”

“Wait, wait. Do you speak in a Russian accent like your character? ‘Cuz I’d be all for that.”

Cas sighs louder.

  

The car door slams behind him, and Cas jumps inadvertently. He turns and glares at his driver, who smirks back at him.

“What’s wrong, little bro? Nervous?”

Cas frowns. “You know very well that I am, Gabe. Nothing else in this world could convince me to let you anywhere near this.”

Gabriel hums softly, a concession of sorts, Castiel hopes. “Sure you don’t want me to stick around inside?”  
  
“Positive.”

Gabe follows Castiel’s gaze toward the diner in front of them. It’s a small place, boxy, and mostly windows. Evergreen swags drape across the exterior above the windows, and twinkle softly with small, white lights. The windows are frosted over at the bottoms, preventing him from seeing inside, but also, thankfully, preventing those inside from seeing him standing in the parking lot, dithering like a lovelorn idiot. Cas’s breath rises up before him. His ears burn with the cold, and he wishes he’d ignored Anna and worn a hat. What does it matter what his hair looks like?

Still, despite the chill, he lingers until Gabe elbows him in the side.

“I’m gonna head over to that bakery. Got my phone on, so you just call if it gets weird, okay?”

“Yes, of course.”

Gabe watches him for a few moments. “You know, I can go inside right now, scope it out and report back.” Cas shakes his head. “Well, you have to do something. Either go in, or get back in the car.”

Castiel’s feet free themselves from the snowy pavement and he starts walking toward the diner entrance.

“Attaboy! See you in a bit!” Gabe calls out and spins on his heels. Cas pauses only to watch his brother jog across the street to the little bakery tucked in between two larger storefronts, then turns and continues up to the diner.

A blast of hot air smacks Castiel in the face as he enters. His glasses fog up, and he removes them. The diner is decorated inside as well, but everything fades into a blur of multi-colored twinkly lights. Almost immediately, a small blond woman holding a menu comes up to him. Her greeting is lost in the sudden pounding of his heart, because his body is catching up with the fact that this is actually happening. He only just manages to croak out that he’s meeting someone. Inexplicably, she leads him through the diner toward the cozy back corner, as if she knows exactly who he’s here to see.

Three of the four booths that he’s being led toward are occupied. The first booth has an older woman reading a book, the second a young couple staring moonily at each other. That leaves the last booth, the one tucked right in the corner, where a man seems to watch them approach. Cas slides his glasses back on, although they haven’t yet completely cleared up.

The man at the last booth still has his winter scarf draped loosely around his neck, and hat and gloves rest on the table with a heavy jacket crumpled up on the seat behind him. His hair, dark blond, was probably styled at one point but is now fluffy and mussed and a little staticky from the hat. (Cas’s ears still sting with cold, so he certainly doesn’t begrudge the other man for opting for warmth over fashion.)

Cas gasps as the man comes into focus, the detail of his features sharpening. He has a well-shaped face, a firm jaw stubbled with the beginnings of a reddish beard and lovely cheekbones and fine eyebrows, but what really grabs Cas’s attention are the man’s eyes. Piercingly green, wide, almost doe-eyed, fringed with long sooty lashes. There are fine wrinkles at the corners of those eyes, the only visible sign that the man is around Cas’s age.

He’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. The self-conscious, grumpy, irreverent man he knows can’t possibly be this guy.

Oddly, the man stares at Cas once he and his escort come to a stop. He stares, then blinks, then gets to his feet.

“Cas?” the man says.

Cas nods slowly.

“Holy shit, you’re hot.”

Heat floods Castiel’s cheeks. That was _his_ line. He pictures how he must look with his dark hair neatly styled, but everything else in uncharacteristic disarray; his face red with cold and embarrassment, thick-framed foggy glasses, tiny ice crystals in his beard. Anna had nearly gone to pieces trying to get him to shave, but he’s too fond of the beard. It’s also very warm, and it’s been a frigid winter already. She had eventually accepted his promise to neaten it up with a trim.

Castiel is glad that he did, now that he sees what he’s up against.

The man flushes faintly—and even that is beautiful—and clears his throat. “Um. Let me start over. Hi, Cas, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello… But you can’t possibly be Dean, can you?”  
  
“Sure am.” The man— _Dean. This is actually Dean!_ —laughs, somehow thinking that Castiel was making a joke. “You wanna sit? You like burgers? Jo’s mom can fry up a mean one.”

“I do like burgers.” Cas sits gingerly, and after a few seconds, shrugs out of his jacket, leaving it to fall behind him like Dean had.

Dean points to the woman as she drops the menus on the table. “And just so you know, Jo here’s got my back. Just in case you turn out to be a whackjob. She’s good with knives.”

“Oh,” Castiel replies. It takes his brain a moment to chug back into working order. “Well, just so _you_ know, my brother Gabriel is over at the bakery across the street, ready to defend my honor at a moment’s notice. He’s good with… arcane magic.”

Dean laughs again.

Castiel decides that it’s a lovely sound.

 

  

_Cas, c’mon. Get your ass over here. Time for presents!_

_My hurrying will have absolutely no bearing on the presents that are offered under the tree._

_Yeah, it’s not_ those _presents I’m excited about. I have a special one here for you._

In only a few minutes, Castiel’s character rides up and gives him a very public in-game hug. Old Krushnic would have simply waved or saluted Dean’s character. The change gives Dean some very warm and fuzzy feelings somewhere right in his middle.

_Merry Christmas, Dean._

Dean opens a trade with Cas and waits impatiently for his boyfriend to accept the wrapped gift. The trade goes through, but long moments pass. Then, suddenly, Dean’s phone starts ringing. The call is from Cas. Bemused, he answers.

“Hey, what’s up, you get disconnected from the game or something?”

“Dean, this is perfect. I love it.” Castiel’s voice is thick with barely suppressed emotion.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you gotta show me. What’s the gift?”

“You do realize that you gave it to me, do you not?”

Dean laughs. “I am aware. Just do it.”

“You are ridiculous.” But nevertheless, Cas sends Dean an in-game message linking the item:

**[Blingtron Heart Key]**

_Happy Feast of Winter Veil <3 ;) _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Does this need a glossary? I could add a glossary.
> 
> Also, I actually made these characters. They really exist on Moon Guard, my favorite love-to-hate-it World of Warcraft server.
> 
> Um, anyway. Thanks for reading!


End file.
